


5 times Peter gets advice and the 1 time he doesn't need it

by hotchpotch



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: 5+1 Things, BAMF May Parker (Spider-Man), Bisexual Peter Parker, Identity Reveal, Kinda, Like, M/M, Ned and Michelle brotp, Steve Rogers was Peter Parker's first crush, Swearing, again kinda, apart from peter, because i can't help myself, betty brant/michelle jones/gwen stacy, civil war still happened, i dunno something like that, im love her, it is canon, lil time jump at the end, team cap and stark are still not talking, team cap sneak in to avengers tower without anyone knowing, the avengers tower is a separate entity from stark inc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-09-28 08:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17178980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotchpotch/pseuds/hotchpotch
Summary: After the disastrous few weeks he spent with Liz, Peter decides he needs to recruit some experts the next time he fancies someone. Only now that he fancies someone, the experts really don't seem that great.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> first pic pls forgive. also im from england so if this reads weird then blame that and not my poor writing thank u

1\. Bruce

It all starts with Peter being sleep deprived. Ordinarily, this isn’t that weird, but with Aunt May on his back about “looking after himself more”, and his patrols being cut down to _two hours_ a night unless emergencies (for May’s sake rather than his own, but it was two hours or nothing, so Peter has to make do), he really has no excuse to be a dysfunctional mess anymore.

And it isn’t even his Spider-Man-ing that’s stressing him out. No, it’s more of a _feeling-based_ issue that causes Peter to lose sleep every night at his computer, clicking through help-forum after help-forum as his eyes burn.

Dr. Banner is one of the only people he interacts with regularly who is just as well versed in emotional exhaustion as Peter is. And since most of their time is spent in a professional capacity (see: Bruce watching on in amusement as Peter messes around trying to recreate the holodeck or lightsabers (the latter is mainly for Ned’s benefit because Peter privately thinks Star Trek is _way_ better than Star Wars)), Peter asking for advice about his… feeling-based issue is more than fine, so long as he keeps things on a casual-chat level.

‘Hey, Dr. Banner?’ says Peter hesitantly, fiddling with the circuit board for the BB-8 replica he plans on giving Ned for Christmas. ‘You know you learnt all that stuff about meditation when you were in Brazil?’

Peter peeks up anxiously as Bruce hums, glad that he’s distracted with the new project Peter asked him to look over. The synthetic webbing Peter makes — while ideal for what he uses it for — isn’t biodegradable (or rather, the powder it disintegrates into isn’t biodegradable) and Peter had asked, although the powder was harmless, was there any way they could make it even _more_ eco-friendly?

Unrelated: the new boy in his class — the one who expressed concerns to Mr. Cobbwell one Chemistry lesson about how safe it was for there to be heaps of chemical powder dusted all over New York — was, by pure coincidence, the root of his feeling-based issue.

‘Is that just for anger things?’ he asks, trying to be vague and casual and act like there’s not a red alarm klaxon blaring in his head. ‘Like, does it work for other emotions? I dunno, like… unwanted crush-like feelings on someone who doesn’t know you exist?’ Bruce has slowly slid his eyes over to him during this time, and while it would probably would be an idea to stop speaking, Peter tends to rabbit on when he’s anxious. ‘Or sadness? If so, can you teach me? Also, if not, different question —’

‘Peter,’ says Bruce, cutting him off. Peter falls silent instantly, cheeks pink. ‘I really think you should talk to Tony about stuff like this. Well, maybe not Tony,’ he mutters, running a hand through his hair, ‘Steve would be better. Or your friends! That kid you keep bringing here… Ned, he’d be good.’

‘I can’t talk to Ned about this!’ squawks Peter. ‘There’s no way he’d be able to keep it a secret! And if I tell Mr. Stark then he’ll tell _everyone_ and it’ll be so _embarrassing_!’

Bruce’s eyes flit away nervously. ‘I don’t know, Peter, I really don’t think I’m qualified —’

‘Please, Dr. Banner,’ begs Peter, ‘I’ve been on every internet advice column I can find! I really need your help.’

‘Oh, boy,’ murmurs Bruce, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looks at Peter’s desperately-pleading face and sighs, spinning his chair around to face him properly. ‘I dunno, Pete… you should probably talk to them first, y’know? Befriend them, learn their interests, all that stuff.’

Peter listens with wide eyes and absorbs as much as possible; this is already way better than the advice he’d gotten online, and his brief crush on Liz hasn’t taught him much in the way of forming a lasting, meaningful relationship ( _not_ that that was what he was expecting, to be totally clear).

‘Just… find a common ground. All the best relationships come from a kinship of something good and healthy.’

*

The next day is a Saturday, so Peter has a whole weekend to plan his talking points. He actually manages to come up with a few good ones, too — flaws in the justice system, the importance of environmental wellbeing, human and animal rights — their mutual passion and general enthusiasm for the sciences is one in particular that Peter thinks could crop up naturally. He goes forward with confidence; the very same confidence that abandons him the second he steps foot into his Chemistry classroom on Monday morning.

Ernest Lilly sits directly in front of him in the seating arrangement, and right beside Ned, both of whom arrive earlier than Peter that day and are chatting casually.

Before Ernest had moved over from England a few months ago, Ned used to sit in his seat (and almost got moved out of it about a million times for turning to whisper to Peter). Peter remembers how Mr. Cobbwell made a point of saying to Ernest on his first day that he’d do a good job separating him and Ned, and in a way it’s worked, because Peter is way too distracted by the back of Ernest’s golden head to concentrate on anything else.

‘H-Hey, guys,’ stammers Peter, then winces and inwardly curses himself for being hopeless at things like this. Now that he’s closer, Peter can see that Ernest is wearing a “ _Tea. Earl Grey. Hot._ ” hoodie that is just a bit too big on him, the sleeves slipping down past his hands. Every single clever talking-point he came up with vanishes from Peter’s mind, and instead he blurts out, ‘Nice hoodie.’

Ernest looks down fleetingly, as if he hasn’t even realised what he’s wearing, and then beams up at Peter. ‘Thanks!’ he gushes delightedly. He even turns in his chair a bit to face Peter more directly. ‘You like Star Trek too?’

Peter nods dazedly, because he isn’t used to positive feedback from his crushes, and Ned jumps in instantly with something about how Star Wars is far superior to Star Trek because of its “epic multi-generational plot”.

‘Star Trek deals with real social issues, has way more awesome women in it, _and_ its villains are super interesting,’ says Ernest, laughing a bit at how intense Ned is. ‘And besides,’ he adds, sneaking a wink at Peter as he melts into his chair behind them, ‘at least we don’t have Jar Jar Binks.’

Peter’s pretty sure he’s in love.

 

2\. Bucky (& Steve)

It’s been nearly two weeks since the time Peter managed to say actual words to Ernest and not completely humiliate himself, and his giddy heart floats about in his chest near constantly. Aunt May even comments, as suspicious as she is teasing, how happy he’s been lately, and Peter only grins. The last time he’s felt anything even _close_ to this was when Liz agreed to go to Homecoming with him — but his happiness had been mixed with pain and fear, and nothing can compare to the pure euphoria of just _speaking_ with Ernest everyday.

As the weeks go on, Peter soon realises that he doesn’t have to force conversation with Ernest at all — now, Peter knows he could talk with him about pretty much anything. It’s like having another Ned.

Well, it’s like having a Ned he’s half in love with (romantically, because he loves Ned unconditionally in all other ways).

It doesn’t take long for other people besides Aunt May to notice how cheery he is. Bruce is first, but only because he’s looking for it. He asks Peter how it went, and Peter sighs and coos, “we’re _friends_ ” in the gooiest tone Bruce has ever heard. He just smiles at Peter in that indulgent way any adult does when Peter does or says something they think is sweet.

Surprisingly — or not, depending on who you ask — Bucky also notices. Bucky is, arguably, the most protective of Peter out of them all, because Peter’s innocence and earnestness and goodness reminds him of Steve; the Steve before the war, before the serum, before Bucky’s head was scrambled by HYDRA. Even on the bad days when Bucky is in his “factory settings” — his _mission-report_ mode — even then, Bucky regards Peter’s safety and happiness as a primary concern.

Bucky only approaches Peter with blunt honesty when he’s in mission-report mode. Not that he lies when he’s at his healthiest, but his black-and-white brain doesn’t feel awkward moments or respond to social cues, so there are no barriers holding him back from instigating a conversation neither of them would have at any other time.

So when Bucky visits Peter in a guest bedroom (a room he stays in so often that it’s as good as his by this point) at the new Avengers Facility, his face set in firm determination, Peter knows what he’s in for.

‘Hi, Bucky,’ he says, smiling. He’s holding his Stark phone tightly in his hand, just in case Ernest texts him.

They’re doing that a lot recently. Some days Peter ends up texting Ernest almost as often as Ned, though he’s always sure to make it up to his dearest friend by building a Lego set with him (it’s usually Star Wars themed; there was a whole week of Ernest and Ned wearing their respective Star -blank- merchandise. Ernest ran out quicker, but he argues that it was only because Ned is so fanatic about Star Wars and that objectively, owning four separate items of clothing themed around Star Trek is actually quite a lot and that Ned clearly has a problem).

‘Hello, Peter.’ Bucky replies. Peter gestures him to sit, and Bucky does so stiffly. ‘You’re happy.’

At just the thought of why, Peter grins. ‘Yeah, I am.’

‘You weren’t unhappy before,’ says Bucky, to check.

Peter smiles at him. ‘No,’ he says sincerely, knowing that Bucky will take it as a personal failure if he finds out Peter had been unhappy without anyone realising. ‘I’m _extra_ happy now.’

Bucky stares at him intensely. ‘Something has made you happy?’

They both jolt as Peter’s phone dings, and Peter can’t help a goofy look overcome his face at what it says:

_how do you feel bout replacing all star w*rs merch in neds room w/ Star Trek stuff?_

Peter is about to reply to the text when another comes through.

_hes going to his grandmas on sunday i checked. you in petey? :P_

‘Some _one_ has made you happy,’ says Bucky certainly. He eyes the phone, and Peter knows he’s going to have to guard it carefully for the next few days in case Bucky hacks into it to find Ernest’s number — it wouldn’t be the first time (hell, it’s how he introduced himself to Ned) and while Peter knows it’s all done out of love, he’s not ready to expose Ernest to this part of his life just yet.

Shooting off an eager confirmation text, Peter’s smile mellows into something earnest and bashful. ‘Yeah. I — yeah, really happy.’

Bucky studies his face for almost an entire minute before he nods shortly, his warm, big hand coming to rest on Peter’s shoulder. ‘Good. You deserve to be happy.’

*

Twenty minutes after Bucky leaves, Steve Rogers enters; a part of Peter still can’t process that his childhood idol (and very first crush, not that he was _ever_ going to tell Steve that) can simply walk into the room and it not be a news-worthy event.

‘So. Bucky tells me you’ve met someone,’ says Steve, announcing it like he does on the PSA videos Peter’s seen countless times. ‘Someone who makes you happy.’

‘Yeah,’ says Peter, a bit more awkwardly, because there is a big difference between talking about crushes with Bucky than there is talking about crushes with Steve, a former crush himself. ‘We’re just friends,’ he blurts hastily, and he blushes and looks down at his lap.

‘Hmm,’ says Steve shortly. He’s obviously not convinced of something, despite the fact that everything Peter has told him so far is the truth.

Steve walks further into the room and sits on the swivel chair opposite Peter’s bed, leaning one elbow on his knee in a manner even more reminiscent of his videos — Peter wouldn’t be surprised if every bit of life advice Steve imparts upon others is lifted straight from the transcripts.

‘Peter,’ he says, with grave seriousness, ‘at this time in your life, your body’s going through some changes —’

Mortified, Peter slaps his hands over his ears. ‘Oh my God, _please_ stop speaking, Captain Rogers,’ he implores, eyes wide and pleading. ‘It’s embarrassing enough having to listen to your video in every Sex Ed class, I _really_ don’t need to hear it in person.’

It’s Steve’s turn to look awkward. His cheeks pink slightly, but he clears his throat and perseveres. ‘It’s important that you look after yourself, Peter,’ he says, coughing and averting his eyes before adding, ‘especially if you’ve — erm — _met_ someone —’

‘We really are just friends, Captain Rogers,’ says Peter (well, more like “whines”, or at least, his voice takes on a whiny quality to it, though he feels it’s justified). ‘And that’s probably all we’re ever gonna be, so it’s really just — I’ll… get over it, y’know?’

And that’s not even a lie, even if it does sound a bit self-deprecating. Peter’s not called a genius for nothing; he knows that crushes fade. Especially those forged in youth. And he’s certainly not blind to Ernest’s flaws, either. He’s stubborn and outspoken and suspicious, and he has a mean streak in him that even Michelle was startled by — Flash doesn’t bother Ernest about _anything_ anymore, that’s for certain.

But Peter’s seen the protectiveness and shrewdness and fearlessness as well. How gentle and empathetic he can be, even if he doesn’t always understand. And Peter thinks that even though it would be quite nice indeed to keep a hold of this crush, it would certainly be smarter to let it go (and he thinks he could do it if he has to).

(But he really doesn’t want to have to.)

Steve is quiet for a long time. ‘When I was your age, I thought the same thing,’ he says quietly — the “ _about Bucky_ ” is implied. ‘And then the War happened. And I regretted every single moment I could have said something but didn’t.’

‘Even in the forties?’ whispers Peter; Steve grins wryly.

‘I was in the army, Pete. The squad were probably taking bets.’

Peter snickers, and Steve chuckles along as well, though the tone of grief that lines his laughter hurts Peter deep in his chest.

‘My point is,’ says Steve, ‘you never know what’s around the next corner. Especially for people like us.’

Peter looks away; yet another reason not to say anything, he thinks. It’s bad enough that he’s endangering Aunt May, and Ned — and all of MSST, for that matter. If anything were to happen between him and Ernest, surely that would only paint an even bigger target on his back? Wouldn’t it be selfish to disregard Ernest’s potential safety for the sake of a crush?

‘Well, regardless,’ says Steve when Peter remains quiet, ‘it’s important to Buck — it’s important to _me_ — that you’re happy. And this _someone_ seems to make you very happy indeed.’

 

3\. Ned

Don’t get him wrong, Peter seriously considers Steve and Bucky’s advice. And he’s very, very tempted to take it. But it’s way too risky, at least for the moment. There’s a surge of criminal activity recently (which Peter suspects is because of an inventor called the “Terrible Tinkerer” who sells advanced weaponry to criminals, and had a hand in developing the Vulture’s tech), and Peter can’t drag Ernest into the middle of that right now.

Even _more_ so because Peter has it on good authority (Ned) that the Tinkerer had planted a bunch of bugged radios in the offices of state officials and politicians. Now is _hardly_ the time for Ernest to become a fixture in Peter’s life. For God’s sake, not even _Michelle_ is privy to his vigilante double-life, and she’s been friends with him and Ned for a whole year.

(To be honest, Peter thought she’d figure it out by now. Or maybe she has and she just hasn’t told him. She wouldn’t be a target that way, at least. Something he can’t say for Ernest were he to tell him about his feelings, because Peter doesn’t think he can base a relationship on such a massive deception.

Again.

Especially if he wants this one to succeed.)

Unfortunately, though, Ernest has none of this awareness and is more than happy to push the boundaries of their friendship, to the point where even Ned notices.

It starts off small. Like, “ _I really like hanging out with you, Pete_ ” level of small, which is something Peter can generally handle, even if Ernest’s honesty catches him off guard nearly every time. But as the weeks pass, Ernest’s random little comments push all the way to “ _[sigh] I love you guys_ ” level — sometimes thrown in with a longing, meaningful gaze that isn’t at all crisis-inducing — and Peter is out of action for at least five minutes trying to process what the hell _that’s _supposed to mean.__

__It’s on the first day of the winter holidays that Ernest is particularly brave. They’ve all met at Peter’s to exchange presents (his finished BB-8 to Ned is clearly the best, he thinks with pride) before they all branch off to their respective families._ _

__Much, much later in the day, not long after Ned and Michelle both leave, Ernest wonders aloud, quite naturally, if Peter fancies anyone at the moment? All Peter is able to do is stare and blush and stammer, and Ernest just smiles and shakes his head and says _never mind _in a soft voice, and it’s all Peter can think about for the rest of the night.___ _

____And then Ernest leaves the country — visiting his family back in England for Christmas — and he won’t be back for two weeks, so Peter takes the opportunity to call for backup._ _ _ _

____Namely, his Guy-In-The-Chair._ _ _ _

____Turns out Ned isn’t surprised in the least._ _ _ _

____‘Of course I know, dude! Have you forgotten how you act when you have crushes?’ snickers Ned. ‘I’d be surprised if literally _anyone _doesn’t know.’___ _ _ _

______Peter groans from where he’s sitting; cross-legged and on his bedroom ceiling. He lolls his head back, hating how utterly pathetic he is at stuff like this. ‘Oh, man, did I do my weird staring thing again? I tried not to do it this time!’_ _ _ _ _ _

______Ned just pats his dangling head consolingly, and Peter whines._ _ _ _ _ _

______‘S’okay, dude, MJ and I have been brainstorming,’ he says comfortingly — as if any sentence mentioning Michelle “brainstorming” (read: “scheming”) can be _comforting_. ‘We’ve got a plan,’ he continues, moving to sit on the desk chair, ‘and it starts with you telling Ernest your’ (Ned winks conspiratorially) ‘ _spidey secret_ —’_ _ _ _ _ _

______‘ _Dude_!’ Peter whips his head back to look incredulously at Ned’s upside-down face. ‘ _What_? Since when did MJ know about that?’_ _ _ _ _ _

______Ned waves a hand; Peter doesn’t appreciate his friend treating the risk of his life-endangering secret being exposed so flippantly, but sure._ _ _ _ _ _

______‘Like, two months ago, man. She saw you sneaking back in through your window — and almost had a mental breakdown, it was hilarious — but she didn’t want you to know that she hadn’t figured it out herself so she’s spent the last few weeks trying to come up with a reasonable cover to surprise you with and make herself look smarter.’ Ned is quiet for a few seconds, before he adds, ‘Don’t tell her I thought her mental breakdown was hilarious. I am actually terrified of her.’_ _ _ _ _ _

______Peter doesn’t think he can say anything to that. He gapes helplessly for a moment, then flops back on to the ceiling and groans again. ‘This is way too much for me to process right now…’ he mutters to himself, drawing a hand down his face._ _ _ _ _ _

______‘See, look!’ says Ned suddenly from back down on the floor, who had been rooting around in his bag; he brandishes a piece of lined paper torn from one of his schoolbooks and waves it about. ‘We wrote it down! _Step one: Peter confesses Secret_ — capital “S”, and a little spider doodle. We didn’t want to, like, expose you if we lost the paper. _Step two: Ernest has a few weeks to process_ — _very_ necessary; we’ve underlined that a couple times — _and falls in love w/_ — and the spider doodle again, and a heart,’ — Peter can’t help but sigh, disgustingly wistful, and he knows Ned is rolling his eyes behind him — ‘ _Step three: Peter gets his shit together and snogs the bastard._ MJ wrote that one.’_ _ _ _ _ _

______Peter rolls on to his stomach and rests his chin on his hands. ‘Do — do you think it’ll work?’ he asks hesitantly._ _ _ _ _ _

______‘Dude,’ says Ned soberly, ‘it’s obvious to literally everyone that _anything_ you try is gonna work. You’re not the only one who’s _agonisingly obtuse _. Seriously, Pete, this will-they-won’t-they crap is physically painful to me. Just trust in the plan, put us all out of our misery.’___ _ _ _ _ _

________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________There’s a period of time just after Ernest returns for New Year’s that Peter convinces himself that _tonight is gonna be the night I reveal my identity to him_ — _tonight, definitely, for sure_. Tonight is never the night. It takes almost a week of tonights before the universe gets tired of his shit and forces him into it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________It’s the fifth of January, and the snow has finally arrived; nearly ten inches of it, in fact, overnight. Aunt May is furious, grumbling all morning about how awful the traffic will be, and how many people will waste her valuable nursing time with coughs and colds and “ _I think my bad leg has stiffened up from the cold snap, sign me off work please_ ”s._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Aunt May is so preoccupied with work that Peter can get away with a sneaky extra patrol. She doesn’t like him going out in harsh conditions — well, she doesn’t like him going out at _all_ , and she’ll take any excuse to stop him from doing so; this one just happens to be weather related._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________If Peter’s honest, he doesn’t really want to go out for very long himself. Because Aunt May’s right, it _is_ pretty harsh snow. His suit may be weather-resistant, but spiders can’t thermoregulate, so they’re naturally cold as it is, and the suit can only do so much before Peter feels as though his joints are frozen solid._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Not much crime is happening at the moment. None on the streets, anyway. Peter webs around the usual hotspots, stopping a few muggings, but after nothing serious pops up he decides to head home (and hibernate under a mountain of blankets and duvets and hot water bottles)._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He swings home via the rich-people-houses, partly because they have the prettiest Christmas lights, but also because Ernest lives down there and Peter’s gotten into a bad habit of checking up on him sometimes. Not in a weird way! Just in a… casual-concern kind of way. What if a super-villain targets the street he lives on? And it is a rich-people-area, after all, having a villain aim at the rich wouldn’t be the weirdest thing Peter’s seen in his vigilante career._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________And Karen said it was “perfectly acceptable, even _sweet_!” when he tried to justify travelling in completely the wrong direction to get home, so Peter feels a bit less creepy._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Peter just reaches the _super_ posh houses when the back of his neck prickles; he kicks into Spider-Man-mode and thwips off towards the danger._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________It seems pretty innocuous at first — just someone slipping on the ice a bit, even if the boy ends up toppling to the floor with the weight of his shopping bags — but then Peter notices the car that’s zigzagging towards him at a speed that’s frankly irresponsible, considering all the black ice on the road._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Karen, where’s the strongest point in the side of that building?’ he commands, already preparing to fire and jump; the car is quickly approaching, swerving dangerously all the way down the road, and the boy is struggling to stand because of the ice, his heavy bags, and what appears to be an ankle injury._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘ _Here is the recommended point of fire,_ ’ says Karen, a red dot appearing in Peter’s eye-line high up on the adjacent building. Peter swiftly aims and shoots, tugging securely to tighten the rope. ‘ _Be careful, Peter. The car is moving erratically and unpredictably._ ’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Thanks, Karen, I will,’ he says quickly, and he swings himself towards the boy, who is now stood precariously on a dodgy ankle with the handles of the bags cutting into his elbows — the boy still hasn’t noticed the car._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________In a swooping movement that’s just in the nick of time, Peter curls his free arm around the boy’s chest and yanks hardly on the webbing, launching them both up into the air just as the car veers off the road entirely and on to the pavement. There’s a sharp screech of brakes behind them, and Karen confirms in his ear that no one is hurt — except maybe the car, and the tree it crashed into._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________As Peter and the boy reach their highest airborne point, he lets go of the webbing, and for a second there’s a drop in their stomachs; the boy squeaks and clutches on to Peter tightly, muttering “ _shit shit shit shit shit holy_ fucking _shit oh my god_ ” under his breath even when Peter sends out another line of webbing and gently sets them down in an alleyway not far away._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Peter has to pry the boy’s arms from around him, and oh _fuck_ this really wasn’t who he was expecting. ‘Hey, hey,’ he says in what was meant to be a soothing voice, but there’s an excess of adrenaline in his system which is _obviously_ the reason why he’s so shaky, and not because he nearly just saw Ernest _die_ two seconds ago. ‘It’s okay, you’re okay,’ says Peter, setting down the bags and rubbing his gloved hands up and down Ernest’s arms. ‘He’s okay,’ he mumbles to himself. ‘We’re all okay.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Holy shit, I almost died!’ gasps Ernest. He’s gazing up at Peter, stunned. ‘Spider-Man!’ he says belatedly, almost not even realising why he’d be there. Peter’s instantly endeared._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Are you okay?’ asks Peter worriedly, scanning Ernest for injuries._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Tip-top, thanks to you,’ says Ernest, laughing a bit hysterically. He scruffs his golden hair and mumbles, ‘I just got saved by Spider-Man, holy shit. Ned’s never gonna believe this.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Under his mask, Peter grins. ‘All in a day’s work,’ he says, walking the line between boastful and bashful — though he can’t help puffing up smugly when Ernest beams at him in awe._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘I’m sure, superhero,’ says Ernest, giggling a bit and looking away shyly. ‘Um. Thanks. Have I thanked you yet?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘You can thank me again, if you want,’ says Peter cheekily, and Ernest snorts, grinning._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘The _Bugle_ ’s right — you’re a menace!’ he cries dramatically, pointing at Peter with a poorly stifled laugh. ‘A sly, silver-tongued devil!’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Suddenly, Ernest yelps and hops on one foot, hissing painfully, and Peter’s good-humour dissipates with the reminder that Ernest is hurt._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Shit, Ernest, are you all right?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Peter almost carries him over to an old crate box and carefully sits him down. He elevates the foot, as Aunt May told him to do once, and struggles over what to do next when he realises that Ernest has gone completely silent. He looks up, confused._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘“Ernest”?’ he repeats blankly. Peter’s heart plummets to the floor. ‘I didn’t tell you my name?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Uh — um, no, but —’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Do I know you?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________Oh fuck oh fuck oh no_ — ‘What? No! No, no way —’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Ernest’s brain clicks into place and his mouth drops open slightly. ‘Peter?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Peter freezes; his brain fails him, as it always does, and Karen is quiet but he can tell she’s listening, and what the _hell_ is he supposed to say to that? This isn’t a trusted confession like Ned told him it should go, this is an _outing_. Where’s the honour in that? Peter doesn’t know much, but he’s sure that trust is important, right?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Unexpectedly, arms loop around his neck and tug him into a hug. If his brain wasn’t already malfunctioning, Peter’s sure it would have stopped working at that._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘ _Thank you_ ,’ whispers Ernest, squeezing. When he pulls away, Peter’s still dazed. ‘You should get going, Spidey,’ he winks, ‘it’s getting late.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________And he stands, collects his bags, and hobbles out of the alley. Peter stands there alone for a while, mind blown and still a bit shaky from the adrenaline._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Needless to say, Aunt May detects his incredibly stealthy patrol when he crashes through his window, frozen to the bone and wide eyed, nearing twenty minutes later._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________4\. Karen_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Surprisingly, Ernest knowing about Spider-Man’s secret identity (and Peter’s alter ego) has changed very little in their friendship. Aside from a few soft, proud looks whenever Spider-Man’s newest victory surfaces among their peers, Peter can almost delude himself into believing he made up their entire alleyway exchange in hypothermic delerium._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________They still text each other daily streams of nonsense; Peter still wants to punch himself in the face whenever he says something stupid; Ernest still snorts and calls him an idiot; Aunt May still gives him knowing looks over dinner._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Ned insists he should get a move on with The Plan, specifically step three, wherein he gets his shit together. Step two has already been accomplished, apparently. Though, even Peter has to admit, it’s obvious through Ernest’s vocal support of Spider-Man that he’s certainly “processed and fallen in love with” at least the _idea_ of Peter being Spider-Man._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Peter fondly remembers the time when Ernest (and Flash, but who cares about Flash) organised a rally against a small group from the rival school — who, it’s fair to say, are avid readers of the _Daily Bugle_ — with pithy, well-sourced arguments that refute all accusations that Spider-Man was a “cock-sure youth with nothing more than a chip on his shoulder and an all-encompassing desire to upstage and undermine the everyday acts of heroism done by the good, _non_ -mutant people of New York” — a direct quote from a _Daily Bugle_ article dated 23rd January._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The rally even caught the attention of the press; Peter still can’t describe the warm, gooey feeling he gets whenever he watches back the footage of a glowing Ernest gush about the importance of Spider-Man on real actual television._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________And if he has the Youtube video of it bookmarked in his Spider-Man suit so that he can watch it during slow patrol days then that’s between him and Karen._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Speaking of which._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Is that the boy you like?’ asks Karen as Peter brings up the video, lounging casually on a construction girder beam suspended way up over New York from a crane._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Peter almost chokes on his sandwich (the builders always leave a lunchbox — and, for the cold weather, a flask of tea — for him), and splutters incredulously, ‘Where did you hear that, Karen?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘A large percentage of Ned’s recent messages to you are concerning this boy,’ says Karen simply, as if snooping through his personal texts isn’t a huge breach of privacy or anything. ‘He is the same boy you saved from the swerving car several weeks ago, isn’t he, Peter?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Peter sighs. ‘Yeah.’ He swipes away the video and looks up at the white winter sky instead._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘He knows your identity.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Mmhm.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘I thought that keeping your identity a secret was of great importance?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘It is,’ he reassures her, knowing that if he didn’t then the chance of her “accidentally” leaking his real-life persona to the press would shoot up to “viral within literal seconds” — Karen was unyielding that Peter be properly praised for his vigilante work, even though he explained very clearly that the safety of his friends and family was more important. ‘But Ernest knowing is different. Like with Aunt May and Ned and MJ. They’re not going to tell anyone. MJ still hasn’t even told me she _knows_ , yet.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘But she knows?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Yeah,’ says Peter, fiddling with the now-empty lunchbox distractedly. ‘She saw me sneak back into my room in the suit a few months ago.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Karen is silent for a moment. ‘When are you going to start step three of The Plan?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘I can hear you capitalising “the plan”, Karen,’ Peter says instead. ‘And how do you even know about it, anyway?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Ned sent you a text thirty-seven seconds ago regarding the urgency of The Plan.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Stop saying it like that,’ he mutters grumpily, huffing._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘What is step three of _the plan_?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Rolling his eyes within the suit, Peter says, ‘That’s not much better.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Silence; though Peter thinks he can sense Karen’s impatience. Peter throws back his head and heaves a great, overdramatic sigh._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Step three is when I’m supposed to tell Ernest that I — y’know — _like_ him.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Is that a bad plan?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Yes!’ cries Peter. He lets go of the lunchbox so he can wave his hands around for emphasis. ‘If I tell him and he doesn’t like me back then it’ll ruin our friendship! This is _different_ to how it was with Liz — we barely knew each other! If she had rejected me, the only thing that would’ve happened was a few awkward moments in the Academic Decathlon. And let’s be honest, there were awkward moments anyway. But _Ernest_ is my friend. I _like_ being his friend, and I like having him as my friend. I don’t wanna risk that!’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Many great relationships begin from a close friendship,’ says Karen wisely. ‘In fact, the rate of success in romantic relationships distinctly correlates to the strength of their platonic bond.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Well, yeah,’ says Peter mulishly, ‘and if he feels the same then that would be, like, the best news in the world. But there’s way too much at stake, here, Karen.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Karen whirrs thoughtfully. ‘… Ned is quite insistent that you follow step three. He has messaged you four times in the past minute.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘I _am_ gonna do it, y’know,’ says Peter, though he feels like he’s lying, both to himself and to Karen, ‘… eventually.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________There’s another judgemental silence from Karen._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘I am!’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘…’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘I mean, I don’t even know _how_ to do it!’ babbles Peter. ‘Like, am I supposed to plan a whole evening? Confess through notes, like in rom-coms? Blurt it and run? And what do I even say?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Karen finally decides to help him out. ‘The most consistently-successful method of professing one’s romantic attraction to another is through sincerity and intimacy,’ she tells him, before adding, more personably, ‘and I find it unlikely, if Ernest is as wonderful as you say,’ — Peter’s face heats, recalling the times he’d prattled on to Ned about Ernest in the texts Karen apparently reads — ‘that heartfelt honesty will provoke a negative reaction.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Peter allowed his imagination to run away with the idea for a moment. An image of him and Ernest on the floor of his bedroom, late at night, when they’re supposed to be sleeping, whispering to each other and laughing in the way friends do at sleepovers; the atmosphere low and private and the lighting dark, because Peter always has more confidence when he knows no one can see his face — it’s one of the main reasons why he wears the mask, aside from identity reasons._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________And Peter thinks, maybe, he could have a real chance at this._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait. also happy new year! the ending isn't the best, but i'm pretty happy with how this turned out over all.  
> (also the ffh trailer is amazing, everyone go watch it)

Obviously the moment he staggers home and properly starts to think about it he convinces himself that it’s all a terrible idea and to just not bother. Yeah, the Tinkerer has been apprehended, and no new threats have surfaced other than the usual, but will it ever _really_ be safe, hmm?

Nevertheless, first thing the next day — half stumbling through his window and still disorientated from knockout gas — he has Karen text Ernest (because she doesn’t have any concept of anxiety and won’t chicken out at the last second) a message asking if they could meet up and that Peter has something very important to talk to him about.

_Hello, Ernest. I was hoping that we could see one another later today. I have something to discuss with you._

‘Karen, what sort of text is that?’ squawks Peter once she’s shown his what she’s written, and digs around his messy desk and the pile of clothes on the chair in front of it in search of his phone.

‘Peter,’ calls Aunt May from the kitchen exasperatedly; he hears her shake off web-fluid from her hand and the splat it makes when it hits the floor, ‘how many times have I said not to use your web-shooters in the house? _Especially_ in the kitchen?’

‘Sorry, May!’ shouts back Peter, still frantically searching. He finally finds his phone in the pocket of the custom, passive-aggressive Hanukkah hoodie MJ had made for him — on six per cent battery, and with a massive crack running down the screen — just in time to see the three dots morph in to a reply.

‘Well? The fridge isn’t going to clean itself!’

‘Just a minute!’ yells Peter.

_sure, robospider ;)_

While Peter is hastily sending out a reply ( _that wasn’t me! it was suit lady!_ ) Aunt May opens the door. Then freezes, a soft, sad look overcoming her face at the sight of him in his suit; Peter whips off the Spider-Man mask and half-smiles.

‘Oh, Peter,’ she says, and if that isn’t a punch in the gut.

His smile turns more into a grimace. He knows she’s looking at the bruise on his cheekbone and his misshapen nose. ‘I’ll be right there, May.’

Aunt May tuts gently and sighs. ‘I love you, Pete.’

‘Love you, too,’ he whispers as she leaves. He looks down, heart heavy, at his phone.

_:o using suit lady as siri is a new level of lazy. tut tut mister parker-man._

_but sure ill be there_

_xx_

His chest loosens and the smile comes easier. Even if his phone dies the moment he sets foot out of the house that morning.

*

Peter would be lying if he said he isn’t on the verge of a panic attack the entire day. He’s wearing the Hanukkah hoodie, even though it’s early February — for “luck”, he told himself, and not because it’s big enough to make him feel invisible — and he’s pretty much Ned’s shadow in every one of his classes.

Ernest is his usual self, which is lovely, but _nerve-racking_. Especially because Ernest’s “usual self” includes lots of hugs and affection (except for MJ; the first time he’d thrown his arms around her she’d tensed up, and Ernest had apologised profusely for not checking if she was okay with physical contact from him. Thinking of that very sweet memory is also _not helping_ ).

Seeing Ernest act so normal when Peter has to deal with his spider-senses going haywire is _very_ rude. How can he be acting so normal when in a few short hours their whole dynamic is going to change _forever_ , for better or for worse?

(And what a _great_ time to use marriage jargon, Peter, that’s really going to calm you down.)

Of course, this is the perfect time for Ned and MJ to _not_ be really perceptive and intervene. Which was partly what Peter was hoping for, as he knows his friends are the sort to hijack his problems and do it all themselves.

But the day’s not a complete waste.

He’s fairly sure that his staunch avoidance of Ernest during the Spanish test has afforded him full marks, and during lunch when he’s lost thinking about what on earth he’ll say to him he unknowingly consumes three apples and nearly a litre of water. He’s not the best at healthy eating, so hopefully that’ll tide him over for couple of weeks until May forces nutrition down his throat.

All in all, he really shouldn’t be that surprised that the day goes quickly, and before long he finds himself walking stiffly back towards the flat with Ernest bobbing along chattily at his shoulder.

‘I’m so shit at Spanish,’ he’s complaining, idly kicking an empty McDonalds bag a few paces before bending down and picking it up. ‘Back home I took German, which I guess I was okay at, and I was better at French, but that’s only because Mum’s French. Well, _half_ French, but still. I guess that’s why they wouldn’t let me take it — it’s the same here, too. Like, “ _you’re far too good at that language to have a qualification in it. Here, take this one instead, you’re_ awful _at that_ ”.’

Ernest snorts, scrunching up the litter; they turn a corner and he drops it in a bin they pass.

‘But yeah, so I failed the test for sure. You’re pretty good at Spanish, though, right? I mean, I looked over at you, like, four times, and you were _whizzing_ through it. Would you mind giving me a hand? God, those conjugations are a _nightmare_.’

Peter would prefer not to know that he’d been looking at him during the test after all. ‘Happy to,’ he manages.

‘Every time I try to roll my “r”s I sound like I’m choking.’ He demonstrates, laughing at himself, and Peter feels himself smile. ‘With French, it’s more about _alluding_ to an accent,’ grins Ernest. His hands come up to twist in the straps of his backpack. Peter has to stop himself from catching one in his own.

‘Hey, have you ever been to Delmar’s?’ says Peter, louder than he intended to. ‘Best sandwiches in Queens.’

‘Now _that_ depends on what you’d constitute as a sandwich, _monsieur_ ,’ replies Ernest teasingly. The inflection to the last word is clearly acquired and not native, but it’s pretty damn close; for a second, Peter’s breath catches in his throat. ‘Crisps, chips, sausages? A bit o’ good old fashioned egg and cress?’

‘Better than that,’ promises Peter. Not that an extra five minutes is nearly enough time to stall with, but at least he’s getting some good food out of this whole experience.

Ernest’s mouth quirks, somewhat sadly, and gives a little shrug. ‘Can’t, m’afraid. No money.’

‘I’ll pay,’ says Peter instantly (not embarrassing at all). He stammered awkwardly, ‘They’re, uh, good sandwiches.’

Peter tries to smooth out his face into something less constipated as Ernest gives him a curious once-over.

After barely a second’s pause, he exclaims, ‘Well, how could I refuse such an offer!’ Exuberantly, Ernest links an arm through Peter’s. ‘Hey, is that it, there? Oh my God, they have a _cat_.’

Okay, so their arms weren’t joined for very long, but it’s enough for Peter to need a bit of a steadying breath before joining him inside the deli. Mr. Delmar is, as always, behind the counter. Ernest has tucked himself out of the way of the customers, fluffing the cat and cooing. Peter sighs, a bit pathetically, and impulsively grabs a packet of Skittles as well.

‘Oh, aren’t you a _darling_ ,’ croons Ernest. It’s clear he’s already besotted. ‘Pete, isn’t she _lovely_?’

Peter hums, fond. ‘What sandwich do you want?’

Ernest looks up at him with false affront, ‘Um, the _best_ one? Obviously?’

Chuckling, he joins the queue. Mr. Delmar gives him a look as he reaches the counter.

‘Two number fives, please. With pickles. And smushed down —’

‘— real flat, yeah, I know,’ he smirks; as Peter grins and nods, Mr. Delmar jerks his head to Ernest. ‘Who’s the kid?’

Before Peter has a chance to answer, Ernest springs towards them. ‘Your cat is absolutely magnificent,’ he gushes. He has loose fur all down his hoodie — it’s the same Star Trek one from the first time they properly spoke to one another. ‘What’s her name?’

This is clearly a good impression to make, as Mr. Delmar answers far more good-naturedly than Peter has even seen him regard a stranger. ‘Sandwich; my daughter named her.’

‘Sandwich!’ cries Ernest delightedly. He hurries back to squish her face affectionately. ‘She’s perfect!’

‘He’s a friend, from school,’ says Peter awkwardly when Mr. Delmar raises his eyebrows at him.

‘Hi, my name’s Ernest,’ greets Ernest, back again. Going up on his toes, he tries to get a good look at their sandwiches while they’re being made. ‘Peter said this place has the best sandwiches in Queens!’

‘That’s right,’ Mr. Delmar says, matter-of-factly. He grabs said sandwiches from his employee and Peter pays for them and the Skittles.

Ernest takes his with intrigue. ‘Well, it certainly _looks_ delicious.’

‘They taste even better,’ assures Peter, stuffing the Skittles in his pocket and reaching out for his own sandwich.

Mr. Delmar lifts a hand at them as they leave; Ernest waves back.

‘He was nice. His cat was nicer.’

‘And the sandwiches are the nicest,’ adds Peter, tucking straight in. He needs this; hearty food to fortify the mind. It’s only now that they’ve left that Peter even rememberers why he’d invited Ernest over in the first place.

Aunt May, mercifully, isn’t home. She usually isn’t at this time, but it wouldn’t surprise Peter in the slightest if she’d been sat there waiting — she has a suspicious habit of turning up with a camera around her neck, just in time to witness and document Peter’s most embarrassing moments.

They head straight for his bedroom (the sentence runs persistently through his mind and he tries to beat it out before it sticks) and Peter subtly kicks piles of mess under his bed while Ernest hums interestedly at his trinkets and the odd lump of space tech.

‘So,’ begins Ernest playfully, a while later. They’ve finished their food and chatted a bit more about nothing in particular, and now they’re both sprawled out on the floor, sandwich wrappers balled between them. ‘Why exactly did you call us here today, Mr. Parker?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ Peter plays off, like he hadn’t been stressing about this very moment all day, ‘almost forgot, hah.’

He rubs the back of his neck, and then stops that, because it probably looks stupid and cliché, and not endearing like he’d hoped.

‘Well, we’ve been friends a while, now — like, you know pretty much everything about me, and… y’know, you’re really cool and stuff. Like, you put things into perspective, a lot, and calm me down about stuff. And I really appreciate having you as my friend.’ _Okay, okay, not bad._ Feeling a bit lightheaded, Peter takes a slow breath before he bursts out the last part of his stuttering speech, ‘And — and I think I’d like to have you as more. Than a friend. N-not that you can — you don’t have to, obviously! God, why did I say it like _that_? It’s all totally up to you, just putting it out there. Feel free to ignore it, I’d totally understand.’

Ernest presses his lips together, ‘But you don’t want me to. Ignore it.’

‘No,’ says Peter shakily. ‘I — I really, really, don’t.’

There’s a moment of silence — a silence that is surprisingly comfortable, all things considered — and Peter realises that Ernest had been suppressing a smile.

‘I don’t want to, either,’ he confesses quietly. ‘In fact, I thought that… well, I thought that you noticed how much I, y’know, _liked_ you, and that you… well, I thought this talk was going to go very differently.’

‘That’s mad,’ breathes Peter, half stunned. ‘I mean, erm. I thought it was going to go pretty differently, too.’

‘That’s mad,’ copies Ernest, laughing.

He links their hands easily, and suddenly the atmosphere changes completely. The room feels much brighter now.

Ernest beams at him. ‘Obviously this could only happen while I’m covered in cat hair with sandwich all round my mouth, eh?’

‘I ate three apples in ten minutes,’ blurts Peter unnecessarily. ‘I — I was so distracted with what I was going to say that I didn’t even realise.’

‘I looked at you more that four times during the Spanish test,’ confesses Ernest, grin wide on his face. ‘For most of it, probably. I wrote about five sentences the entire hour.’ He giggles. ‘We’re a right pair, aren’t we?’

Peter hums: _a pair_ , he thinks giddily, _sounds perfect_.

*

5\. Flash

Their first date is on Valentine’s Day — mainly because it’s funny, but also because of the special discounts they plan to take advantage of — but it’s also on a Wednesday, which means they still have to go to school.

Ernest insists on wearing his Star Trek hoodie, even though he hasn’t managed to get out all the cat hairs yet. So that they match, Peter decides to tack his Starfleet pin on to his jacket — Ned and MJ think it’s a disgusting display, but they also can’t stop commenting on it so he doesn’t feel too bad about it.

And of course, there’s the Valentine’s Day roses. Midtown does it every year, he’s fairly sure every school does, but neither he nor Ernest care too much about what the student body thinks of them to bother wasting money on it. There’s a reason they haven’t told anybody aside from Ned and MJ (and Aunt May, but they’d less told her than she told them), and that’s because it would be _insufferable_. Besides, they need to save their cash for later.

The later that’s interrupted by crime. Spider-Man’s off midway through their date.

It ends up being nothing more than a petty jewel thief, an old man who goes by Black Fox. He cries some sob story about his penniless family — Peter’s far too impatient to deal with it and webs him up double, annoyed that he’d ruined this day of _all_ days for the sake of a man barely even a criminal.

He swings back to the alley he’d changed in, where Ernest is hopefully still waiting. Peter wouldn’t blame him if he’d left — what a terrible introduction this was to a relationship with Peter Parker.

But he’s still there, with Peter’s backpack safely around his shoulder and holding a jumbo ice cream cone to boot.

‘Some lady saw you run off and abandon me,’ twinkles Ernest, ‘Wanted to soothe my aching heart. And if I cried a bit, well, who’s to say?’

Peter laughs, relieved enough that he doesn’t even notice Ernest stepping forward and one-handedly lift his mask until their lips are pressed together.

They’re soft, he thinks, apart from a little spot on the lower lip — he remembers Ernest coming into school one day with a bloody lip and telling them about how he nervously bites at them, so much so that he’d woken up to his tooth imbedded into it that morning. It must not have entirely healed yet, which is why there’s a noticeable bump, and Peter has _no idea why he’s thinking about that when he’s finally kissing Ernest Jesus Christ_ —

There’s a sudden twinge in the back of his mind, and Peter looks up just in time to see someone run off out the alley.

Ernest snorts, forehead hitting Peter’s chest, ‘We’re rubbish at this.’

‘I dunno,’ mumbles Peter, putting the thought out of his head (because how likely is it that anyone’s gonna believe them anyway?), ‘I think we’re pretty good.’

*

As it turns out, pretty likely.

But that’s only because they have photographic evidence.

It’s viral with hours. Ned, who had set up an official Spider-Man Twitter a long time ago, hyperventilates at them down the phone just after they return and finish pooling their Valentine loot with Aunt May. Ernest and his social media is tracked down by dinner.

‘I dunno what they’re all doing,’ he says, showing his inflated number of followers to Peter that evening. Aunt May maintains that he stays the night in case someone stalks him home and find out where he lives — she’s on the phone with Ernest’s mother as they speak. ‘It’s a wasteland. I don’t think I’ve posted on anything besides Tumblr since 2012.’

‘They’re probably expecting you to, now,’ replies Peter miserably. He’s already apologised to Ernest, _twice_ , though after the second time he was made to promise to stop.

Ernest doesn’t blame him, he knows that, but it’s still kind of Peter’s fault. No matter how romantic Ernest insisted it was that his spider-senses had _malfunctioned_ because he was so distracted by their first kiss.

‘They can think again,’ scoffs Ernest, throwing his phone at the other sofa. ‘I’ve forgotten most of my old passwords anyway.’ Seeing Peter’s discontented face, he softens and gives him a comforting smile. ‘This’ll all blow over soon, I’m sure of it.’

Peter still wasn’t sure.

Aunt May returns, dropping the telephone back into its cradle. ‘Your mother’s agreed that it’s best that you spend the night. I’ll have Peter tidy up his bedroom so you have somewhere to sleep,’ she says; adding, with practised amusement and a wagging finger, ‘And no funny business.’

Ernest laughs delightedly and replies with a wide grin on his face. ‘But it’s Valentine’s day!’

‘I should never have let the two of you meet.’

Ernest arches an eyebrow at him, but his lips are quirking playfully. ‘ _Let_ us meet? A bit presumptuous that you could let us do anything.’

Flailing dramatically, Peter sighs, ‘Don’t I know it. May, save me from this controlling relationship!’

She smirks at them, and takes the opportunity to tease him a bit further when Ernest hops up to answer the door to his older brother, who’d been sent to furtively drop off an overnight bag and clothes for tomorrow.

‘I meant what I said,’ she tells him, ‘though I know what you’re like. You’ll find some _useful things_ in your desk drawer and I expect you to use them.’

‘Oh my _God_ , May.’ Peter’s face drops and he wilts in mortification. He has no doubt what those “useful things” are that she’s secreted into his room. ‘This is — May, we’ve only been — like, _two weeks_ , May!’ he splutters, he makes sure to keep his voice down, because Ernest could return at any moment.

He has his hands over his eyes, so he can’t see her, but he feels Aunt May’s fingers in his hair. ‘And the however-many-months leading up to it, hmm?’ Peter hears her smile. ‘But I trust you.’ Then, quieter, ‘Ben would love him.’

‘He’d love anyone,’ says Peter softly, peeking up at her. ‘Anyone I’d…’

Aunt May hums, ‘He would.’

It’s the best date of Peter’s life.

*

New York _loves_ Ernest.

Sometimes it feels like they love him more than Spider-Man. Not that Peter cares, it’s well deserved. But it makes things like going to school — going anywhere, really — a bit tricky for him and his family.

Ernest’s face is in every newspaper, and plastered all over the internet. His tweets from when he was twelve are trending. For nearly a week there are people with cameras posted outside the school; once, Peter as Spider-Man swung his seven-year-old brother to a ballet lesson and the entire class was suspended for, like, three weeks because of how many people were crowded outside Midtown’s dance studio everyday.

Of course, as with anything popular, there’s a fair amount of discussion. Opinions, rumours. The few die-hard Spider-Man fans that exist keep sending Ernest _awful_ hate (none of which he sees, thankfully, because he’s completely inactive on social media), completely untrue messages of Ernest’s unworthiness — equally, the journalists at the _Daily Bugle_ are having the time of their lives, and every single page has at least one derogatory thing to say about Spider-Man.

Something that doesn’t really go in their favour is the fact that Ernest is underaged. There’d been speculation that Spider-Man was young before, but never below eighteen; now, he’s either a paedophile (yuck, definitely not), or around Ernest’s age and probably in his _very small_ friendship group ( _oh shit oh shit oh shit_ ).

Flash Thompson is the unexpected hero of the hour. He and Ernest had a bit of a rocky relationship, both very strong characters, but there’s a grudging mutual respect between them that Peter can’t and never will understand. He’s glad of it, though — ever since Ernest first joined Midtown, Flash’s bullying has shrunk down to something that’s almost akin to friendly banter.

He’s still always jumping to defend Spider-Man. There was a weird phase about the week after Valentine’s Day when reporters requested interviews with Ernest’s classmates, and Flash had been the only one to accept. The entire forty-minute session was spent with him insisting Spider-Man is a kid from another school that only Ernest knew the identity of — a story that most of the Decathlon team and Ernest’s family silently backed up. 

Peter doesn’t expect Flash to corner him in the toilets the following Monday.

‘Parker,’ grumbles Flash; Peter’s heart jumps in his chest and he almost jumps with it. He manages to catch himself before Flash sees him sticking to the ceiling by his fingertips.

‘Oh, hey, Flash,’ he says, wincing at his own voice as it cracks. ‘Uh, I saw that interview you did. That was pretty cool of you, dude.’

Flash jerks his shoulder up. ‘Least I could do. Erm… dunno if you heard, but — y’know, Jesse took the picture, so I mean. Well.’ He clears his throat.

‘Oh.’ Peter hadn’t known that.

‘Lilly — Ernest — y’know, said it was fine. She’s still a kid, so. An’ she’s real sorry.’

‘Huh.’ Peter remembers her — Flash’s sister was born a little while after them, but when they were still young enough to get along as friends. She must be nearly eleven, now.

Peter drys his hands on his trousers awkwardly and makes to go around Flash to leave. He’s not sure, but he doesn’t think they’ve spoken to each other so civilly since… well, ever.

Before he can take a step, however, Flash clears his throat loudly. ‘I, er, saw the picture before she posted it. Didn’t know she would, but…’ He looks up vaguely, though it’s only to avoid Peter’s face. ‘I cropped a few things out.’

His heart misses a beat. ‘What?’

‘Your bag.’

It stops. ‘ _What_?’

‘It — uh, well, he was holding it, when…’ Flash looks _supremely_ awkward, which in any other circumstance Peter would relish, but right now he doesn’t feel like he’s even in his body. ‘I mean… I’m pretty sure it’s you, right?’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Peter hears himself say, but, again, he’s feeling pretty detached from himself so he’s going off of an approximation.

‘Right, yeah. Course.’ Flash scuffs his shoe and snorts. ‘Bye, Parker.’

‘Bye,’ replies Peter distantly. His souls lands back into his body when the door slams open, a bunch of rowdy younger-years bursting in, and Peter promptly flees.

*

‘Huh,’ says Ernest thoughtfully once a very stressed Peter whispers the story to him in the library later, ‘y’know, that explains a _lot_ about our recent interactions. I thought he was just bitter about not knowing who Spider-Man was.’ He looks at Peter reassuringly, ‘I don’t think he’s going to tell anyone, Pete. He wouldn’t have cropped the image if he was going to.’

Peter’s leg jitters under the table. ‘Maybe,’ he says unconvinced, though in fairness, his spider-senses would warn him if Flash was being deceptive.

‘Besides, I think he’s starting to like you.’ At Peter’s face, Ernest corrects himself, ‘Well, not _like_ you. But I don’t think he _dis_ likes you anymore.’

Scoffing, Peter says, ‘What on earth makes you think that?’

‘I dunno — he said something about me “slumming it”, but that Spider-Man couldn’t be _that_ bad. Now that I know he knows it’s you, the first bit makes a lot more sense.’

‘He said that?’ asks Peter, alarm raising the volume in his voice.

‘ _SHHH_!’ hisses someone across the room, so the two of them bend their heads together to whisper.

‘Yeah. I guess he kind of approves, huh? Not that either of us needs approval to do anything, of course,’ Ernest flicks through his notebook absentmindedly, ‘but it’s probably best to have the person who knows your secret identity on your side. Stranger things, eh?’

‘Life is never boring around you, huh,’ says Peter; Ernest giggles at him, leaning close to whisper:

‘Says the teenage superhero with spider powers.’

‘Aunt May’s making meatloaf tonight, if you’re interested.’

‘That sounds heart-attack-inducing,’ Ernest grins, ‘I’ll bring dessert.’

*

+1. New York

To the surprise of New York City, very little was heard about Ernest Lilly in the following years. He’d moved back to England when he was nineteen, and there’d been a couple of articles about it in the popular newspapers, but that was about it. Spider-Man was still swinging around, webbing up criminals. Peter Parker had a low-paying job at Buzzfeed, fluffing up all of Spider-Man’s achievements and struggling to pay rent.

Years of silence, and then —

‘ _Peter_!’ screeches Betty Brant, an old Decathlon teammate who had joined him in the journalist career. She hurried up to his desk, slamming a mug of coffee down as payment for her boisterous morning energy. ‘Peter, do you remember Ernest Lilly, from school?’

Peter feeds from the mug like it’s his life-source. ‘Of course I do, Betty. And can you _please_ keep it down a bit? I had a late night — later than usual,’ he adds, sensing a judgy comment about him always having a late night — especially on his last day before his two week notice ends and he’s officially unemployed. _It’s not like_ she _has to worry about stopping criminals terrorising the city every single night._

If anything, she makes her voice more shrill. ‘He’s getting _married_!’

Peter winces — both because of his delicate hearing, but also to cover a smile. ‘Oh?’

Betty shoves her phone at him and he glances down at the news page open: _Ex-lover to New York mascot Ernest Lilly announces engagement! “…[W]hy, to Spider-Man, of course!”_

‘Good for him.’ Peter’s voice is muffled by his coffee, definitely hiding a smile now. Hell, he’s practically grinning. It’d been the _perfect_ Valentine’s Day surprise, his best one yet. ‘Bit young, though, isn’t it?’

Betty sniffs disdainfully, clearly hoping for a better reaction. ‘Plenty of people get married at our age, Peter. I mean, he’s twenty-six, it’s not like he’s seventeen.’

Shrugging, Peter says, ‘I’m glad you’ve got the story.’

‘Only ‘cause you’re leaving.’ She sinks into the chair next to him. ‘I will miss you, Pete. Even if you are a grumpy shit in the mornings.’

‘Well, you try finding a decent job to hold down rent.’

‘You didn’t actually have to quit, y’know, Peter!’

‘Jameson _hates_ me.’

‘What sort of a reason is that, slacker? Liz was right, you’re a total flake.’

Peter grins at her; he will miss Betty, even though he knows she’s going to be so angry at him this time tomorrow. He tells her.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ she smiles, rolling her eyes and shoving his shoulder. ‘Whatever, Parker. Tell Ned if he’s not at your Happy Unemployment party tomorrow then I’m blocking his contact from my phone. If Flash can get leave from the army then Ned can fly down from Massachusetts.’

Peter laughs, ‘He’ll be there, he promised.’ He hasn’t promised, but Peter knows he’s definitely going to be there now that Ernest is back in the papers.

‘And tell him to bring Gwen.’

And that’s another reason Ned is definitely going to be there. Gwen Stacey is a girl he met at MIT, and the dual-crush of both Betty and MJ. Peter’s only met her a few times, but he’s certain she can handle the terrifying pair just fine on her own. Peter and Ned are equally fascinated to witness their calculated three-way courtship; even if Ernest _didn’t_ have a ring on his finger ( _wow wow wow_ ) Ned wouldn’t miss it for the world.

‘Hey, actually, Pete,’ Betty catches herself and turns around, journalist face on. ‘You were closer to Ernest than I was. Did he ever tell you who Spider-Man is?’

Peter pretends to think, humming. ‘Don’t think so. I’d probably remember it if he had, wouldn’t I?’

‘With all that stuff when we were, God, sixteen? When it all came out?’ she probes, completely unsubtle. ‘He didn’t say _anything_?’

Sighing, Peter “caves”, ‘Well, not at the time, but I think he said something recently about a reveal? He can’t get married secretly, the press’ll be crawling all over him.’

Betty’s eyes shine. ‘Did he say when?’

He shrugs again as if he has no clue about the Tweet in Ernest’s drafts they plan to send out into the world at midnight (he had Ned hack into his account a long time ago and reset his password: _sp1deyladisBae_ ).

‘Tt. Never mind. Thanks, Peter.’

When Betty’s completely out of sight, he whips out his own phone and shoots of a text to his boyf— _fiancé_.

_when’s ur flight??_

He barely has to wait any time at all for a reply.

_ten mins. see you in 8hrs bb :P_

Peter smiles at his phone; he can see it stretch across his face in the reflection of the screen. _It’s time_ , he thinks. Spider-Man he will always be, but whiz-kid Miles from Brooklyn is ready and Peter wants to live his life. He and Ernest have been secretly investing in and establishing Parker Industries for a couple of years, now — there are other ways to save the world, after all, and their mutual passion for science has only grown over the years. And Aunt May isn’t getting any younger; she deserves more from him than once-a-week visits and no guarantee he won’t die before the next one.

That night, the internet explodes. Peter forgets to turn off his notifications, and his phone vibrates itself off the counter while he’s making dinner for a very jet-lagged Ernest. Betty leaves a _loud_ voicemail, the last minute of it being furious congratulations.

Weirdly, Peter’s never felt so at peace in his life.

‘Guess we’re stuck together, now,’ murmurs Ernest, pressing his face into his pillow and sighing. ‘They know our names, we’ll never be free.’

‘What _were_ you thinking, saying yes?’ says Peter quietly, fond.

Ernest makes an indistinguishable laughing noise in his pillow. ‘Clearly I wasn’t.’ He drags his head up, eyelids droopy. ‘Love you,’ he mumbles sweetly.

‘Love you, too,’ Peter whispers back, heart full.


End file.
